


Harry's Shorts

by Gandalfs_Beard



Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The X-Files
Genre: Drama, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfs_Beard/pseuds/Gandalfs_Beard
Summary: Random Short-stories, Oneshots, and Drabbles set (mostly) in Potterverse. Will probably lean towards humour/satire, but there could be some romance and adventure as well. Some crossovers with other fandoms should be expected. Not all the stories will focus on Harry, but when they do, expect Harmony pairing.





	1. The Half-Giant and the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Summary:** _An unfamiliar creature lurks in the Forbidden Forest, alone and afraid..._ ;-)

The hunter was injured - deep in the thick of an unfamiliar forest as he hunted his quarry. He tried to slow his heartrate as he staggered through the verdant underbrush. It wouldn't help him to lose too much blood, and its scent would only serve to turn the predator into prey.

The thundering of hooves distracted him, camouflage failing. A flurry of arrows soared towards him through the air... far too many to avoid. One pierced a weak point of the hunter's armour, burying in the flesh of his armpit. As the second wound took its toll, the hunter calculated his odds and decided that the hunt would have to be postponed.

Using what little remained of his camouflage, the hunter crept back the way he had come while the equestrians did their best to follow. But when the horse-people reached the clearing into which the hunter appeared to have escaped, they held back in shock. The Centaurs whinnied and neighed as a doorway opened in midair. The Predator's camouflage shorted again as he entered his craft and the door shut once more.

The Centaurs angrily pawed at the ground and stamped with their hooves as a hot gale-force wind roared through the clearing, whipping their tails and manes, the limbs of nearby trees swaying dangerously. Then the wind was gone, as quickly as it had arrived. Bewildered, the Centaurs sniffed the air.

"The hunter is gone," said a palomino Centaur. "But its prey remains..."

"A most dangerous prey," snarled another, a black Centaur with an angry expression. "We should kill it before it turns on us..."

"It is not ours to kill," retorted a dappled grey. "I say let the hunter return to finish the job when he has healed..."

"Nay," said a chocolate coloured Centaur, "I agree with Bane - the beast is too dangerous to let live while we await the return of he who invaded our forest to begin with.

"I concur," shouted another, and soon the glade was filled with a chorus of Centaurs agreeing that the creature should be killed before it could harm one of their own.

Their hooves thundered once more as the Centaurs swept the forest looking for the beast. After an hour of searching, they neared the woods that bordered the deep forest - the woods closest to the castle.

"Use caution," said the Palomino, "There may be young wizards about. I sense the large hairy one very near..."

Sure enough, moments later, the Centaurs reached another clearing - this one with a paddock. The large hairy one was there, waving his umbrella at the paddock and muttering some sort of fortification spell.

The dappled grey's face paled when he saw what the Hairy One had tethered in the pen. The enormous shiny black dragonish creature hissed and spat acid from its maw filled with deadly looking fangs. The acid hit an invisible shield and dripped to the ground, smoke rising as it burned through the top layer of soil.

A secondary internal jaw with another two rows of venomous looking fangs protruded from the open mouth, gnawing helplessly at the invisible shield as it began attempting to bite and claw its way out with its long vicious talons, its scythe-like tail whipping around furiously.

"Are you mad, Hagrid," shouted Bane. "Give us that cursed beast, or kill it yourself before it kills us all."

"Now why would I wanna go an' do tha'...?" Hagrid muttered, his beard bristling. "It's just scared o' you lot is all - wavin' yer ruddy bows an' arrows about and shoutin' like that. Who wouldn' be frightened?"

"Don't be stupid Hagrid," said the Palomino calmly. "Rarely do I agree with Bane, but the creature is not of this world. It must be put down immediately. As long as it lives, everyone in the castle is in danger.

"Nonsense Firenze..." Hagrid rolled his eyes. "Don' be such a ruddy nag. The poor wee thing is jus' misunderstood, it is..."


	2. Similar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Summary:** _On a special assignment in America, Harry and Hermione have a chance encounter._

The man with messy dark hair leaned back in his office chair and sighed with boredom, flinging another sharpened number 2 pencil at the ceiling. When it stuck in the foam-board panel, the eighteenth to reach its mark, he allowed himself a little, "Yay me," so half-hearted as to sound vaguely sarcastic.

The bored man supposed he was lucky to still have a job, for probably the thousandth time since his bosses had given him the basement office. And he decided that he really ought to count himself lucky that he still had a partner, one who after all these years still hadn't given up on him despite her own misgivings about being stuck in the least prestigious department of the national law enforcement division that they both worked for.

They hadn't been assigned a case for nearly a month, perhaps because the last case had ended on a slightly sour note - a note that their boss had called a "debacle." Never mind that they had tracked down and captured a very dangerous person who had killed at least a dozen people across five states.

As it turned out, the "debacle" had centred on the fact that the press had had a field day with the FBI's official description of the murderer as a werewolf. Of course that "official description" had come from Fox Mulder's own report.

But what the hell? That was his job wasn't it? To report the facts as he saw them? Wasn't that why they had given him the goddamn X-files to begin with? To deal with the "weird" cases that defied normal description?

Apparently some higher-ups had thought otherwise. They were the ones who had overruled his immediate superior nearly from the beginning and assigned Mulder a partner whose job as they saw it was to debunk everything Mulder uncovered which reeked of "weirdness."

Mulder allowed himself a slightly less sarcastic chuckle at the delicious irony that the notorious skeptic who had been assigned as his partner had ended up supporting some of his most bizarre findings on a slew of his biggest cases over the years - including the recent werewolf case. Of course that fact hadn't endeared him or his partner to the higher ups, and so now she was stuck in the basement too.

Not literally stuck - as Dana Scully frequently reminded him; she didn't have to show up at the office until there was an actual case, unlike Mulder himself. So as Fox Mulder sharpened his nineteenth pencil in preparation to join its companions embedded in the ceiling, he was decidedly pleased to see a red-haired woman poking her head through the door of his office.

"Fox, brush your hair and shave, and do up your tie," said Dana Scully. "We've got a case."

"Yay us!" he retorted with a grin, almost sounding like he meant it. "Maybe we'll get lucky and finally prove that the director is a bloodsucking vampire, conspiring to keep us out of the loop for decades."

"Doubtfully," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Here, take a look..." Scully tossed a file on Mulder's desk and he dutifully picked it up and began leafing through it.

"I think they sent this to the wrong department Dana," he muttered. "This looks like a pretty standard serial killer... shouldn't the profilers at Quantico be looking into this?"

"They already have! And all the evidence has hit a wall... that's why we have it now. We need this case Mulder!"

The use of Fox's last name seemed to indicate that he might be sleeping on the couch if he pushed his luck. He sighed.

"Yay us!" Mulder repeated, this time with heavy emphasis on the sarcasm. "The office where cold-cases get sent to die. They might as well just call us the Case Morgue..." He smirked at the frown on his partner's face.

"Relax Dana! I'm thrilled to have a case," he said laconically, flicking through more pages in the file. "And I suppose the symbols painted in blood around the bodies could indicate an occult connection. But I don't understand how this case could be cold - there's physical evidence galore, DNA and fingerprints all over the crime scene... and the accoutrements left at the scene just scream Ritual Killer..."

"It's a mess, I agree." Scully nodded, her frown vanishing when she saw Mulder's forehead creasing with interest. "Whoever committed these murders never bothered to clean-up at all, or dump the bodies. This should be a slam-dunk case, Fox, but every single lead was a dead end. The crime-lab _and_ the profilers are all stumped. The killer or killers are ghosts..."

"Well, not _literal_ ghosts I presume." Mulder couldn't resist the little jibe at his oft-skeptical partner.

"You know what I mean Mulder!" she snapped, rolling her eyes. But Scully allowed herself a little smile, pleased that Fox had managed to retain his sense of humour through the latest case-drought. "Anyway, I thought we should start with a visit to the original crime scene in Santa Cruz, California..."

"Wait, so this really might be a vampire case then?" Mulder chuckled at his own little joke and Scully raised her eyebrows, rubbing her forehead as if she had a headache.

"Mulder, if you start making Corey Haim and Corey Feldman jokes, I'm going to scream!"

"Okay, okay!" he grinned. "I'll stop! Should I assume that you already have tickets?"

"We have one hour until the end of check-in time at Reagan International... And yes, I already packed your wetsuit, but if you plan on getting in any surfing, you'll have to rent a board on your own dime. Don't forget, this is a business trip, Fox."

"Do I ever?" he asked, almost sincerely as he leaned in closer to his partner, giving her that look which always made her feel slightly weak in the knees. Dana's pulse quickened as she allowed herself a few moments to melt into the kiss when Fox's lips pressed against hers.

**~o0o~**

Heaven's tears struck hot asphalt and the smell of ozone filled the air. The haphazard patter of rain became a steady thrum, bringing welcome relief from the oppressive summer heat. The residents of the seaside town continued about their business in shorts and t-shirts, hopeful that the unexpected break in the drought would also relieve the strain of the ever growing community on the local reservoirs and aquifer.

Steam rose from the pelting rain which hit the silvery-blue hood of the rented Buick; its occupants sighed as they pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

"Well, here we are in sunny California, Dana," said Fox wryly as he turned off the vehicle. "Good thing we didn't need our umbrellas..."

"Mulder, the weather forecast was fine when I checked it online. The system was supposed to stay well to the north of San Francisco." Dana glowered at Fox. "Anyway, it won't make any difference if you decide to go surfing..."

"True, but I was hoping to see you by the pool in that skimpy little bikini you bought in San Jose after we left the airport." Fox grinned at the redhead in the seat beside him, pleased to see her blushing and looking slightly mollified.

"Well, if you behave, I _might_ still wear it for you, Fox."

"I'm looking forward to it. Anyway, why don't you stay in the car and let the Sheriff know we're here while I check us in, Dana?"

**~o0o~**

It was dark by the time the FBI agents reached the opulent house at the top of the hill. Burbling water rushed in the gully at the side of the road and dripped in rivulets from the surrounding pines. The agents followed the Sheriff to the front door.

"It's all yours," said the Sheriff, dropping the keys in Dana Scully's hand. "Good luck on finding anything. We cleaned up the scene and gave everything to Quantico over a month ago..."

Dana Scully frowned at Fox Mulder as he stood in the downpour and watched the Sheriff leaving.

"Are you coming Fox?"

"I was thinking of looking around the property actually..." Mulder began. Scully gave a start and glanced behind her through the now open threshold.

"What?" asked Mulder.

"I think I heard voices Fox... someone else is here."

Mulder's jaw tightened as he and Scully both unholstered their guns and crept silently into the house. Scully pointed up the stairs. Mulder nodded and they both padded cautiously up to the second floor, guns drawn. Voices could be heard and an eerie glow emanated from a doorway.

"...another one of your feelings Harry?" said a slightly skeptical, feminine voice with a British accent.

"It's more than that," a male replied, also with a British accent, which Scully placed in Southern England.

"This has to be where it happened," the male continued. "It feels like the time I was in the cave at the seashore with the headmaster before he was killed. I can sense it - Dark magic... Blood Magic... She did the ritual right here, in this room - I just know it Hermione..."

Something about the names of the silhouetted figures struck Mulder as familiar. But he didn't have time to think when he saw cylindrical objects in their hands.

"Drop your weapons and freeze," Mulder barked. "We're Federal agents..."

"...and you're interfering with a crime scene." Scully added, her own weapon pointed directly at the male.

The figure presumed to be Harry froze, nodding slightly at the young woman. Both of them let their weapons clatter to the floor and raised their hands slowly. Mulder frowned, puzzled when he realised the weapons on the floor looked nothing like guns. In fact, they looked remarkably like...

 _"Wands?"_ said Scully in a tone of disbelief as she turned on the lights.

**~o0o~**

"Wait - this is a hoax! You're kidding us, right? Last time I checked, Harry Potter was still fictional!" Mulder peered at the teens incredulously.

"See Hermione, I told you we shouldn't have used our real names," the English boy sighed. The bushy haired girl bit her lip.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said. "You were right - I just don't like to lie unnecessarily."

"You don't really expect us to believe this crap do you?" Scully snapped in frustration.

"Though I have to admit, you both look the part," Mulder added wryly. "You could almost be Radcliffe and Watson's younger twins - if there were such things"

"Bloody Rowling and Radcliffe," Harry groaned. "Just once, I'd like to go somewhere and not have people question everything about my life when they hear my name and see my scar."

"Look, it's complicated," said the girl calling herself Hermione to the FBI agents. "Yes, the books and films are fictionalised accounts, but much of it is also true. Rowling has a talent similar to that of seers, except she's not a prophet - not really. Like many artists and writers, Rowling has an ability to tap into the Collective Unconscious and read people's lives - though she didn't really know that was what she was doing at the time.

"Unfortunately, like Seeing, Reading Lives is apparently a _**dreadfully**_ imperfect art. Had she stuck to the actual, true story, Rowling wouldn't have ever paired me with that _awful_ boy..."

"Oh come on, Ron's not _that_ bad," Harry retorted. "He's not Malfoy after all."

"Harry, Ron bloody ditched you _**twice**_ when it counted most!" Hermione snapped.

"Ron never actually got a chance to ditch _me_ though," she told Dana Scully, "because none of that rubbish about me ever liking Ron was true - Rowling just made that rubbish up because she liked some absolute tosspot when _she_ was in school... I'll never understand why!

"Would _you_ like it if someone called you a bossy-know-it-all all the time? Would you ever go out with someone like that? Would you do all his homework for him and then let him mock you mercilessly for being smarter than him?"

Scully glanced at Mulder, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. When he smirked, she shook her head and gave him a half-smile in return before looking back at the bushy brown-haired girl who was still talking. The boy who thought he was Harry Potter just looked like he wanted to crawl away and hide somewhere, his hands covering his red face with embarrassment.

"...I liked **Harry!** It was _**always**_ Harry - from the first time I met him on the train I've liked him. And even though he did think I was a bit bossy at first, he never once made fun of me for being smart. And we've more or less been together since Harry saved me from the troll, first as best friends, and then later - well, now we're married... Anyway, Ron wasn't even there at all, too busy stuffing his face during the Halloween feast..."

"Wait," said Mulder, his eagerness to believe and his curiosity getting the better of him, "so trolls are real then? Dragons? Mermaids? Magic? Horcruxes? ...all real?"

"Mulder, that's preposterous!" Scully snapped. "Even if we were to accept that some of those books were based in part on the lives of real people, there's no way all that other stuff could be kept hidden..."

"But it's not," said Harry, finally finding his voice. "Not perfectly anyway. Stuff always slips through the cracks... like that werewolf who was captured recently by your lot..."

"He's got us there Dana," Mulder chuckled. "Quite literally. We're actually the agents who captured him."

"You're joking!" said Harry and Hermione together. It was their turn to look incredulous.

"So why's it so hard to believe us then?" asked Harry as he began to scowl. "If you know werewolves are real...?"

"Look, I'm not denying that there are many unusual things in the world," Scully interjected, "I'm just saying that there is always some sort of rational explanation..."

"...Like Alien DNA," Mulder chortled. "Come on Dana, you've proven yourself that sometimes 'rational explanations' beggar belief on a regular basis for decades now..."

"And you're right Agent Scully," said Hermione eagerly. "I agree completely. There are loads of things which seem incredible, but we can prove rationally and empirically that they're real. If you let us have our wands back..."

"Now hold on a second," Mulder raised his hand as if to slow traffic down, "even assuming that I might believe much of what you're saying, if I were to give you your wands back, how do I know you won't use them to do something to us... some sort of _Men In Black_ type stuff like erase our memories..."

"If you mean Obliviation, I promise we won't," said Harry quickly and earnestly. "I wouldn't do anything to you, unless it was to protect Hermione's life..."

"Or your _own_ life Harry..." Hermione added, frowning at him. "You need to look after yourself too..."

"In any case," she went on, looking at the FBI agents again, "we're more or less in the same business as you two, except we have a bit more independence as we only take DMLE assignments on occasion because our friend Arthur Weasley is currently Minister of Magic. We wouldn't be working for the Ministry at all otherwise, as it was a hotbed of corruption and conspiracy against us for so many years..."

"We actually have a Private Practice," Harry continued. "A bit like a muggle Legal Defence and Detective agency."

Dana Scully swallowed as she watched the two teenagers interact. The exchange had at least confirmed for her that they truly didn't mean to harm anyone, and that they cared deeply about each other. She didn't know what else to believe, but something about the pair made her want to believe almost as much Fox did.

But she was curious about one thing in particular, and a few things still didn't quite add up - like the fact that the pair in front of her should surely look a decade or more older.

"Okay, I'll give you your wands back in a moment," Scully relented, "but I have to know a couple of things. First, shouldn't you be much older now? I mean, you look the same age - or younger even - as the actors that play... uh... you in the films."

"Oh! That bit's easy actually," said Hermione with a grin. "The potential lifespan of wizards can be double that of non-magical humans, so some of us are lucky enough to age really slowly - not all of us mind you, because there's just as much genetic variation between wizards as there are between other humans - especially in the NON 'pure' bloodlines.

"Harry and I just happen to be a couple of wizards who have always looked younger than our actual age. That's one thing Rowling got half-right when she described Harry and me as seeming a bit small for our relative ages."

"Wow!" Scully looked a bit envious, a clear sign that she was really beginning to believe their crazy story. "Okay," she began again tentatively with a shy grin, "so tell me what REALLY happened in _Deathly Hallows_ then between you both and Ron and Ginny."

Mulder began laughing softly in the background. "Of course... that's the most important part, Dana!" he chortled.

Harry groaned. "Alright, look - there was never anything between me and Ginny either. Rowling just ignored that bit of our lives and made that up too... Half of book six and half of _Deathly Hallows_ never happened like that at all..."

"...For one thing, Harry was officially my boyfriend since the end of Third Year," Hermione continued, taking over for Harry, "and we got married during the horcrux hunt, a while after Ron left - he _never_ found his way back to us by the way - talk about Deus Ex Machina, that bit was _complete_ rubbish.

"What _really_ happened is that Harry and I did go to Godric's Hollow - it was so sad to see his parents' graves - and I felt closer than ever to Harry. I knew for certain then that I could never live without Harry, and I asked him to marry me... right then and there..."

"And I said yes of course," Harry jumped back into the story, grinning, despite still looking red and flustered to be discussing his personal life with complete strangers. "There was a Christmas Eve celebration happening in the little church nearby, and - well... Hermione and I are both more or less agnostic - we're not really fussed one way or the other - so we wandered into the little church and asked the priest if he'd mind marrying us..."

Tears shone in Hermione's eyes as she continued this bit of their tale.

"...and the priest said yes!" Hermione beamed radiantly at Harry. "It was so beautiful... so romantic. The parishioners didn't seem to mind at all sharing their celebration with us - food, wine, the whole lot - and giving us an impromptu wedding... We stayed until midnight, and then went for a walk while it snowed. We found Harry's old house - where he'd lived with his parents before they were killed..."

"...and that's when everything got bolloxed that night," Harry sighed as he carried on. "It was perfect up till that point. What happened next was pretty much described in the book. And after that night, when we were in the forest the next couple of days, it's true, Snape's doe Patronus did find us. It led me and Hermione to the pond.

"Now, you have to understand that nobody had ever worn that bloody Locket. I wasn't stupid enough to let any of us actually wear that bloody thing. I kept it in the mokeskin pouch that Hagrid had given me. The funny thing is, when it or the other horcruxes were near me, I could feel them with my scar, and so yeah, it was painful for _**me,**_ but it didn't actually affect Ron or Hermione. Rowling made that bit up too...

"Ron ditched me because he was fed up, more or less how Rowling depicted, but absolutely _not_ because of the stupid horcrux. It was similar to the reasons he ditched me during the Triwizard Tournament. He thought I was holding out information on him, that I knew more than I was letting on, that Dumbledore had told me more about how to find the horcruxes, and the jealousy..."

"I still don't really quite know why either," Hermione interjected, an incredulous look on her face. "There had never been anything between me and Ron... I think maybe he was just jealous because he didn't have his own girlfriend anymore.

"Lavender Brown dumped Ron in reality - that's another bit Rowling got backwards - Ron's eating habits, his rudeness, his denseness, his insecurities and pettiness - they were all too much for Lavender to deal with after a couple of months together..."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, sighing, "Ron's not a bad bloke really - he doesn't mean to be a tosser most of the time. Besides being a bit jealous, he's just a bit thick and his mouth runs away with him - but he usually comes around eventually... He apologised to me when he showed up at Hogwarts for the final battle with the rest of the Weasleys... They all came, except for Percy.

"Percy had his head so far up Umbridge's arse after joining the Ministry that he turned out just as bad as the Malfoys in the end. Fudge was never a problem - he was sacked by the Wizengamot after Lucius Malfoy orchestrated the terrorist attack on the Quidditch World Cup... I'm not sure how Rowling mucked that bit up.

"Anyway, After Fudge got sacked, it was really Umbridge that ran the Ministry behind the scenes - she was in the pocket of Lucius Malfoy. Scrimgeour was only ever a figurehead really, and seeing as Thicknesse was imperiused, Voldy was only too happy to let Umbridge keep running the Ministry because their goals were more or less totally aligned...

"Umbridge was actually secretly the head of the Unspeakable Office for at least as long as I was in Hogwarts it turns out - _**that's**_ how she managed to have so many different jobs and wield so much power through each administration, and Percy ended up being her right hand man.

"They both got chucked in Azkaban after the war for Crimes Against Humanity when it was discovered that their Muggleborn Registration and Mudblood Relocation Act was actually sending muggleborns to Death Camps..."

"I still find it hard to believe that Percy actually knew about the camps," Hermione shook her head sadly as she added her thoughts again. "But he must have. He was still at Umbridge's side during the anti-Muggleborn hearings when we raided the Ministry to get the Locket from her - we had to stun him too.

"Anyway, the final battle was similar to the book, but not nearly as many people died on our side, and lots more died on Voldemort's side than Rowling made out. Fred actually lived, and Dora and Lupin both survived - though they were never a couple - another bit Rowling changed up.

"Snape did end up dying, which was sad, because he'd gradually got over being mean to me and Harry after our first few years at Hogwarts. Snape's fondness for Harry's mum actually helped him get over Harry looking so much like his dad.

"Lucius Malfoy got killed, and Draco actually got chucked in Azkaban for a few decades - he's still there - for conspiring to murder Dumbledore, and for nearly murdering Katie Bell and Ron Weasley, and for being part of Voldemort's army. And well... that's basically it," Hermione concluded.

"Except for why we're here," Harry added with a sigh. "Bellatrix Lestrange! ... She was never killed or captured. She's been on the run ever since - traveling around the world and killing with a small group of her own - practicing Necromancy..."

"We think she's trying to find a way to resurrect Voldemort," said Hermione. "And every time the Ministry sends us to look into it when they get wind of a murder which bears her signatures..."

"...she's fond of carving up her victims - marking them like that Umbridge woman marked me." Harry scowled, glancing at the scar on Hermione's forearm. "She was definitely the one behind the murders here - she and her horrid little gang. But she's long gone - probably in Timbuktu by now..." he sighed resignedly.

**~o0o~**

As Fox Mulder cheerfully lay in bed with Dana Scully beside him - sans bikini which was now draped across a chair in the hotel room - he couldn't help thinking back to the incredible spells which Harry and Hermione Potter had showed them both. He and Dana had been particularly thrilled by the patronuses, a stag and a doe.

"Are you thinking about them, Fox?" asked Dana, seeing her on-again boyfriend lost in his own little world once more.

"Hunh? Oh... um, yeah! There's something about that pair... something similar about them..."

"Similar?" Dana looked perplexed. "Don't you mean _'familiar'_...?"

Fox gazed into Dana's clear grey eyes and gently brushed a stray strand of her red hair from her lashes.

"Dana, don't you think it's time we got married?"


	3. Seven Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Rowling wrote a proper sequel ( _Cursed Child_ and Pottermore doesn't count :P ), how should chapter 1 start? This is how I think it should go...

**Harry Potter and the Overly Anticipated Sequel**

**Chapter One: Seven Months Later**

For some reason, Harry's scar was itching—burning again. In a panic, Harry scrambled through the rubble looking for Voldemort, wondering how he could possibly still be alive, but seeing nothing except the bodies of those he had lost: Fred, deathly pale, Lupin and Tonks, parents of a son who would never know them, Colin Creevey, far too young to die... and so many others whose lives had been cut short.

Heart pounding, chest heaving in short rapid breaths, Harry clambered over a pile of stone and peered through the gaping hole in the wall into the courtyard. But there were only more corpses. Where was everyone? McGonagall, Flitwick, Mrs Weasley, Shacklebolt—anyone—where were all the survivors? Where were Ron and Hermione?

A scream of terror pierced Harry's eardrums, and he bolted upright in bed.

Hands shaking slightly, Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, turning to peer at his wife in concern, who appeared to be trembling badly. She looked even more terrified than Harry had felt, as his nightmare was so frequent he always knew he was dreaming.

"Are… are you alright?" he asked.

"N…nightmare!" she gasped. "It… it was awful! I… I dreamed it was 19 years later, and… and I was married to Ron, and… and you were married to Ginny…"

Harry almost rolled his eyes, but restrained himself, seeing Hermione looking so shaken.

"That's what you get for snogging Ron in the middle of the battle. Why did you do that, anyway?"

"I… I was afraid we were all going to die," Hermione replied, turning pink. "I would have snogged you too, but you said, 'Oi… there's a war going on here…' It rather spoiled the mood."

Hermione frowned, another thought occurring to her. "By the way, in the nightmare, one of your and Ginny's children was called Albus _Severus_. Promise me you won't name any of our children anything that ridiculous. _Promise_ me!"

This time it was Harry who turned a bit pink; he didn't say anything. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Harry James Potter, if you even _**dare…**_ Dumbledore, I can understand, even if he did keep you in the dark and manipulate you. At least he cared about you! And he had a pretty good idea that you'd survive to finish Voldemort properly. But _**Snape**_ —after how abysmally he treated you all those years? …and how he treated Neville? Really?"

Harry swallowed nervously. An image forced its way into his mind—a scene, a memory. Hermione crying her eyes out after she had been hit with a teeth growing hex and Snape sneering "I see no difference…"

Harry felt a sudden surge of anger towards Snape which he hadn't felt since the man had died in his arms as Nagini's venom coursed through his veins. And now that the floodgates had been opened, Harry couldn't shut them again—another scene followed: Snape calling Hermione an "Insufferable Know-it-All" in front of the entire class…

"No, I would never do that to you," said Harry quietly. "I promise!"

Hermione's features softened. She lay back down and snuggled closer to Harry, curling an arm around his waist.

"Thank you Harry," she murmured. "Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so cross."

"No need to apologise. _I'm_ the one who's sorry..." Harry pressed his lips to Hermione's forehead, gently stroking her messy coils of hair.

"I love you, Hermione," Harry whispered, feeling his wife of three months calming in his embrace...

**~o0o~**

**Pseudo!Rowling interview in which she reveals how she retconned everything for the new sequel:**

Harry told Ron "She's like a sister to me," just so Ron wouldn't feel bad after what he'd seen in Slytherin's Locket, and because Harry was also trying to convince _himself_ , even though by that point he was finally starting to realise deep inside how much Hermione meant to him. And at the end of the final battle, Harry realised that there really wasn't anything but a stupid "chest monster" between him and Ginny when he found that he couldn't even talk to her, and that Hermione was really the one who had always been there for him.

After the whole locket ordeal, Hermione still had some feelings for Ron, but she knew that they were too incompatible to ever have a chance of building a real future together, and she knew that she and Harry were much better together. She and Harry had a quiet sit down after the final battle, and they finally admitted to each other and themselves that they loved each other.

They hoofed it to Australia to bring back Hermione's parents, then four months later, Harry and Hermione eloped, having no desire for the massive wedding that Mrs Weasley and Fleur were planning to throw for them.

They are both assisting in the rebuilding of Hogwarts, and they resume their schooling to complete their last year when it finally reopens. Harry, feeling rather off the Ministry, eventually starts a pro bono Private Auror and Legal Aid firm with Hermione. They both occasionally guest lecture at Hogwarts, and Harry assists Hermione in her magical science research, and she assists him on their many adventures together chasing down Dark wizards.

Ginny, being much more mature and smarter than Ron, had already started to see the writing on the wall when Harry departed the burrow with Hermione and Ron. She was mildly upset, but unsurprised when Harry never got back together with her after the final battle. Ginny resumes schooling when Hogwarts reopens and moves on with her life, eventually becoming a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. 

When Ron found out after the battle, he had jealous snit and sulked for three months, but managed to get over the worst of his feelings after a while and patched up things with Harry and Hermione shortly after they got married. He joined George in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and hit on Verity the shop clerk. Verity and Ron dated for a bit, then broke up. Ron still tried to hook up with girls, but his relationships never seemed to last more than a few months.

Finally, Ron just gives up trying after becoming a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, as he finds that he's happy enough hooking up with fangirls for flings and one-night-stands.


	4. Marry Me, Mudblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's had his eye on her, and he has a proposition he knows she can't refuse...

All things considered, Draco thought things were going reasonably well. The repaired Hogwarts had been reopened, and he had decided to return to complete his education. His father had impressed upon him that it would help to raise the Malfoy family’s standing in the wizard world and show that they were turning over a new leaf. 

Draco still didn’t have a clue why Potter had let them off scot-free after the battle, nor did his father. Mother had just looked at him a bit distantly whenever Draco asked her if she knew why.

So Draco had decided to roll with it and work harder at not calling people Mudblood to their face. Father had managed it for well over ten years after the first war to keep up appearances, and Draco reckoned he could do the same with a little practice.

Sure, loads of people were still giving him dirty looks. And some of them had even rudely asked him why he wasn’t in Azkaban. 

“Potter forgave me,” was Draco’s standard reply, “Why can’t you?”

And if they were being really rude they would say something like, “Mental! Potter’s off his rocker if thinks you’ve changed.”

It was annoying to have to put up with the riff-raff heckling him like that, but things could be worse - he could actually be in Azkaban right now instead of starting his first day back at Hogwarts to do his seventh year.

The first thing on Draco’s to-do list following the beginning of the year Feast was to hit up Headmistress McGonagall, who apparently had not assigned a new Head Boy yet. Draco caught up with McGonagall just as she was leaving the staff-table.

“Good evening Professor McGonagall,” he said in his most ingratiating manner, beaming broadly, “Could I have a word please?”

McGonagall gave him a very odd sort of look, almost as if there were a bad smell in the room. Draco wondered if he had overdone it with the cologne. 

“I suppose,” said McGonagall, letting out a weary sigh. “Very well Mr Malfoy, what can I do for you?”

“I... er... I was just wondering, I heard you hadn’t chosen a Head Boy yet. And I reckoned... well, I was a prefect after all.” Draco peered at McGonagall hopefully with his best doe-eyed expression.

Professor McGonagall looked utterly shocked, which Draco had to admit stung a little.

“Er... you’re joking, right?” said McGonagall when her voice returned. She peered around the Great Hall as if looking for someone before returning her attention to him. “Who put you up to this? I swear if you’re George Weasley polyjuiced to look like Draco, dead twin or not, I’ll sign you back up for Hogwarts just so I can expel you...”

“What? I’m not George Weasley!” The accusation cut Draco to the bone. “It’s really me - Draco! I just thought that seeing as the position of Head Boy was still open, it was worth a shot.”

McGonagall looked like she might faint, and like she was struggling to control herself.

“My apologies, Mr Malfoy,” she began, her voice sounding a bit strained, “I thought you were messing me about. But it would appear that you got hit with some sort of overpowered Confundus spell during the battle. You really should see some mind healers at St Mungo’s, if you haven’t already. But in the meantime, perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey...”

“I’m fine!” snapped Draco, before he remembered he was supposed to be acting nice. “I mean... I’m alright, really,” he said in a contrite voice. “I don’t know what came over me... Some sort of headache - maybe I should go see Madam Pomfrey after all...”

McGonagall’s features softened and she peered at Draco a bit more sympathetically.

“Of course dear,” she said as if speaking to a brain-damaged child. “And if you must know, I am holding the position of Head Boy open for someone whom I hope will consider returning to Hogwarts. I had no intention of hurting your feelings.”

“Er, that’s okay professor,” said Draco. “I understand.”

But he didn’t really, and he thought that could have gone much better. Draco wondered if he should have tried a different approach. Perhaps he should have played the “Potter forgave me,” card.

**~o0o~**

The next few days flew by as he reacquainted himself with schoolwork, and as Draco began to settle in, he thought he should tackle the next thing on his to-do list. He knew this one would require more finesse than the first item on his list, and he had been a bit dubious at first. But his father had assured him that it would be a massive public relations coup and that if he used the right approach, Draco could be almost guaranteed success.

By the weekend, Draco had it all worked out and knew exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He had practiced for hours in front of the mirror, and he went over his notes from the dozens of romance novels he had read over the summer in preparation for this moment.

Draco gave himself one last look in the mirror, and tousled his hair so it had that sort of dashing devil-may-care look that the ladies always seemed to like. At least that was what Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis had said they liked most about Potter. Then he undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie.

Taking several deep breaths, Draco made his way through the castle to the place he was almost certain he would find her. Peeking through the library door, Draco congratulated himself for being right. There she was with those tawny brown curls tumbling over her shoulders as she hunched over a book. 

For a moment he was more breath-taken than he had expected he would be, the way the sunlight streaming through the window caught the golden highlights in her hair. Wait, what was he thinking? said the innermost core of Draco’s soul. She wasn’t _that_ hot was she? 

But his carnal urge said otherwise, and the pragmatic side of Draco said, _use it, use it, it’ll sell the proposition better_.

So for the moment, Draco’s carnal instincts and his pragmatism overruled his Noble, superior self which was screaming at him to immediately head back to Slytherin and start working on a plan to rid Hogwarts of Mudbloods once and for all.

Draco sauntered into the library, looking as casual as possible. He picked up a random book off a shelf and leafed through it, then put it back, as if it didn’t have what he was looking for. Then Draco ambled over to another bookshelf, drawing nearer to his target. He perused another book in which he had no interest whatsoever. 

After yet another bookshelf, Draco was finally close enough to make his approach without seeming desperate. And bonus! ... Score! ... She was crying quietly, wiping away tears from her rosy cheeks with a lace hanky.

“Hey Granger,” he said softly. “You alright?”

“What?” she looked up with those big brown eyes of hers, glistening wetly. “Oh, Malfoy, it’s you! What do you want?”

Draco tried not to let her mildly disdainful tone get under his skin, and thought he was doing so admirably.

“It’s Weasley again, isn’t it?” he said sympathetically. “You deserve so much better, you know. I would never treat a girl the way he treats you...”

“Er... No, it’s not Ron,” she replied, looking a bit confused. “He and I broke up after... I’m just sad, thinking about all the friends I lost when... you know...”

 _Abort, abort_ , screamed Draco’s Noble self, but his pragmatic side urged him to keep going.

“I do know,” he murmured, casting his eyes down sorrowfully. “I’m sorry,” he said in almost a whisper, moving closer, a tear tricking down a pale cheek.

“You are?”

“I am... _Hermione_. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Oh.” She looked more confused than ever, but she was trembling slightly, her breath quickening, those perfect pouty lips parting slightly. 

It was working! It was working! cheered both the pragmatic and the carnal Draco. Keep going! You’re on a roll!

“So,” he murmured, “what did happen between you and W... Ron, anyway?”

“Oh, er,” Hermione’s cheeks flushed slightly, and her glistening eyelashes fluttered as she cast her own eyes down, “well, if you must know, after it was all over - the war - I finally realised that we’d never really work out. We were just too incompatible...” 

“Wait, why am I telling you this?” Her eyes shot up again, her brow furrowed with that adorable frown of hers.

“It might be my Veela heritage,” Draco suggested, lying his arse off. “I’m one sixteenth on my father’s mother’s side.”

“Really?” She actually looked interested, and she was trembling slightly again 

Draco smiled and nodded, moving even closer. 

“Really!” he said.

“What are you doing to my hand?” she said sharply, suddenly snatching it away from his.

Draco gasped. He hadn’t even realised that he had been gently caressing the back of her hand with his fingers. Play it off! Use it!

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled apologetically. “It’s just... every time I see you like this ... a little part of me dies...”

“It does?” Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Yes!” Draco nodded, gazing at her with his soulful grey eyes. “I... I know you’ll probably find this hard to believe - but I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Hermione looked stunned, then she frowned skeptically again, and then she sighed and peered at him sadly. Draco melted. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful and heart-wrenching as that look.

“George, if that’s you, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. You can’t keep hiding your grief with these silly pranks...”

Needle scratch across a vinyl record! Everything came to a screeching halt in Draco’s brain.

Bloody hell! George again? Why the bloody fuck did everyone keep thinking he was George Weasley?

Play it off! Play it off! Act cool! Keep it together!

“N...no,” Draco stammered miserably. “It’s really me, Hermione, Draco! ... It’s just ... you don’t know what it’s like - having to grow up in a pureblood household - always having to pretend - having to hide your true feelings! ... I love you - I do, and I always have!”

Hermione peered at him more skeptically than ever.

“So,” she said sternly, “When you first called me Mudblood...?”

“An act! I had to put on a good show for the other Slytherins...”

“And all the _other_ times you called me Mudblood... hundreds of times... ?”

“All for show! I swear!” said Draco with an earnest, yearning gaze.

“And all the times you hoped I’d be murdered? ... Second Year - the Basilisk? Fourth Year - after Voldemort returned...?”

“I never meant a word of it! I love you - you have to believe me!”

“And when you sexually harassed me at the World Cup? There weren’t any other Slytherins around when you said you wanted to see my knickers while I was dangling upside down like that poor muggle woman your father and his friends were abusing!”

“That...” Draco’s pallid cheeks flushed. How the hell was he going to play that one off? It suddenly occurred to him.

“I... I’m sorry about harassing you like that! Really! I...it’s just - I’ve got a thing for you, alright? I really _did_ want to see you in your knickers... because you’re just so damn hot! I couldn’t help myself!”

Hermione almost snorted at that and giggled.

“You _**can’t**_ be serious!”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life! You mean the world to me, Hermione!”

“You mean like when you let your auntie torture me?” she said, her voice hardening. “I’ve still got the scars, you know. A blade like that - cursed! Those scars will never fade.”

“I hate myself for that! ... I _hate_ myself for not being strong enough to stand up to my family when it counted most! You don’t know how many nights I lay awake, crying about what I’d let her do to you. ... I should have died for you! I _would_ die for you! I’d protect you - I’d never let anyone hurt you ever again!”

Hermione’s features softened. Draco felt another surge of hope!

“And what about my friends? What about Harry? You tried to kidnap him for Voldemort during the final battle...”

“It was all Crabbe and Goyle - they were the ones who were trying to capture Harry. I was just playing along until I could get away and join you lot - I swear! You have to believe me! And, er... and to be perfectly honest, one of the reasons I always heckled Harry was because I was jealous... mainly because I thought that he and you were, er... you know - together...”

As he peered at Hermione pleadingly, Draco could see her relenting - she was buying it hook, line, and sinker. He praised himself for a job well done and reckoned now was the time to drop the bombshell. 

Draco got down on one knee and reached into his pocket, retrieving a black velvet jewellery box, his heart racing. He wasn’t even sure why his heart was racing, but in that moment Draco didn’t question it. Even his Noble self was strangely silent. 

Hermione simply gaped at him in amazement as he opened the box, displaying the golden ring inset with a sparkling forty carat diamond. She loved it; he could tell.

“Hermione Granger, from the bottom of my heart, I love you now and forever. Would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

He had her! Draco knew it - that look in her eyes - those big gorgeous brown eyes that one could lose themselves in forever. Hermione looked like she was about to cry. She took his free hand and clasped it between her own. The warmth of her touch sent shivers up his spine.

“Oh Draco,” she said softly, her voice like an angel’s, “You poor, poor thing! ...”

Wait... _what?_

“I am so sorry! ... Believe me, if I’d known how, er... how, erm... well, er... you really ought to be seeing a Mind Healer - you must have taken an extremely powerful Confundus Charm during the battle. It must be simply awful for you. I’m so sorry I laughed at you a moment ago...”

She patted his hand gently. Draco couldn’t believe it as his world shattered, the shards littering the depths of his soul.

“...And I’m _so_ sorry that I have to break it to you this way - knowing how much you probably actually believe everything you just said - but I’m already engaged... to Harry! Now, how about I get you to the hospital wing...” 

Draco’s eyes suddenly caught the sunlight glinting from a slender, elegant gold band on her ring finger. How could he have not seen it? She must have been deliberately hiding it.

Draco quickly stood up, his eyes stinging with tears, his cheeks blazing like a furnace, his lips quivering, nostrils flaring. He quickly turned around and stalked out of the library feeling like his heart had been ripped out, barely hearing her call after him, “Draco - wait... you need help...”

She had been playing him the whole time. A bubbling rage boiled in the churning cauldron of Draco’s stomach. That stuck-up, Mudblood bitch - he should have known! Well one day... one day when all the fuss had died down, when everyone was complacent, the Purebloods would rise again from the ashes of history and then she’d pay - they’d all pay! 

Potter, Granger, Weasley, and everyone they had ever loved would burn as Nature’s Nobility once again took their rightful place upon the Earth...

**~o0o~**

“Wait, you _**can’t**_ be bloody serious!” Harry gaped at Hermione in amazement. “You’re pulling my leg!”

“I’m not, Harry. I promise!”

“He actually asked you to marry him? ... Draco asked you to marry him, and he really thought you’d say yes?”

“I think so, Harry! You should have seen the look in his eyes. And when I told him... He was absolutely crushed! ... Even though I can’t stand to be in the same room with him, I still felt dreadful...”

“Bloody hell!” Harry shook his head, still not quite able to wrap his mind around it. “Blimey, he’s off his bloody nut! He must’ve been brain damaged during the battle...”

“Now that you’re here, you won’t use your position as Head Boy to be mean to him, will you?” Hermione asked worriedly. “I mean, I know he’s absolutely horrible, but he’s not in his right mind - and anyway _you’re_ the one who forgave him and told Shacklebolt to give him another chance...”

“Er... I thought that was what you’d want me to do.” Harry began to feel a bit puzzled.

“Not really, no!” said Hermione, shaking her bushy head. “I think he should have gone to Azkaban for all the awful things he’s done - for a few years at least - but now he belongs in St Mungo’s! ... His father though - he should have got life if you ask me.” 

“Why didn’t you say so at the time?” asked Harry, feeling very bewildered now.

“Because you were in so much pain Harry!” Hermione shot him a look of such deep sorrow that it made Harry’s heart ache. 

“You’re _**still**_ in pain,” she continued, “I feel it every night when I’m with you! ... Forgiving people is your way of dealing with the grief! I couldn’t take that away from you. It’s one of the things I really love about you... but sometimes you’re a bit too forgiving for your own good.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, rubbing at his forehead, “You’ve got a point there. ... I mean, Ron’s _still_ sulking after the blowout, but eventually he’ll come around - he always does - hopefully in time for our wedding, and I’ll forgive him of course - ...”


	5. I See Thestrals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst/Drama/Friendship/Romance
> 
> Just to be clear, this one is not humour/satire.
> 
> A few lines of dialogue borrowed from Rowling.

She hadn’t been able to look at them anymore - the bodies of the fallen strewn amidst the rubble and being carried by the survivors to makeshift morgues in empty classrooms; Tonks and Lupin, Fred Weasley, and Colin Creevey among them. And she couldn’t help but think of those others lost along the way this past year: Dobby, Mad-Eye Moody, and even Hedwig, Harry’s owl, and before that, Dumbledore lying on the ground just below this very tower.

Hermione stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower peering out over the battlements, across the grounds of Hogwarts and the Black Lake to the mountains rearing up against the deepening blue of the late morning sky as the sun rose higher, hoping to see some sign of life - some sign that the future held more than death and suffering. 

She didn’t hear the footsteps on cobblestone behind her until it was too late, and jerked away from the hand touching her shoulder as if burned.

“Oh!”

“Sorry!” Ron mumbled, casting his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding sharper than she had intended, instantly regretting the question. 

“I mean - why aren’t you with your family?” said Hermione more gently. “They need you right now.” 

“Your _mother_ needs you right now,” she added, remembering Molly Weasley’s boggart at Number Twelve nearly two years prior. 

Hermione reached out to take Ron’s hand - the one which had touched her shoulder - and this time it was he who pulled back. He nodded, his eyes still cast down, his cheeks glistening wetly.

“Yeah!” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re right Hermione - Mum does need me now. I just... I thought... I hoped you’d need me too.”

Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to say - feeling a piercing pain in her chest as something broke. Ron looked so forlorn, but for the moment she just wanted to be alone to grieve in peace. 

And then Ron turned and was gone before Hermione could get any words out. 

She turned back to look out across the balustrade once more as her tears began falling again, regretting the hurt in Ron’s features when just a short while ago they had been together with Harry in Dumbledore’s office feeling - not happy exactly, but glad that it was over, the battle won. 

Harry! 

He had looked so lost after repairing his wand. She had seen it in his sleep-deprived eyes as well - the need to be alone, away from everyone. Harry hadn’t even been to see Ginny - not since last night for a scant few minutes before the battle had broken out - the only time he had seen her in nearly a year. 

Hermione’s tears fell faster, thinking about how Harry had just headed up to Gryffindor Tower instead of following Ron back downstairs to be with the Weasleys. She knew how guilty Harry felt for all the death. She had seen it in his eyes.

Hermione wiped away tears but they kept falling, and then she saw them - flying just above the Forbidden Forest - for the first time she saw Thestrals...

...and she knew just how Harry had felt. She felt awful all over again, as if it had just been yesterday...

**~o0o~**

“That foul, lying, twisted old gargoyle!” Hermione raged at Harry and Ron.

“You see what she’s up to? It’s her thing about Half-breeds all over again...” she continued to rant as the three of them waded through deep snowdrifts back up the hill towards the castle. 

Harry and Ron remained silent until she began to run out of steam.

“...I mean, alright, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine - in fact, for Hagrid, they’re really good.”

“Umbridge said they’re dangerous.”

That brought Hermione up short, shocked that Ron could bring himself to agree with anything that horrid toad had to say. She whirled around angrily to face him. 

“Well it’s like Hagrid said,” she snapped, “they can look after themselves...” 

Hermione softened her tone as a keen sense of disappointment came over her, washing away the anger. “...and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they _are_ very interesting aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t? I wish _I_ could see them.”

“Do you?” asked a quiet voice.

Hermione whirled back around to see Harry’s sad green eyes, horrified at what she had just said.

“Oh Harry - I’m sorry...” she said, feeling horribly guilty, her eyes brimming with tears, “...no, of course I don’t - that was a really stupid thing to say...”

“It’s okay,” Harry said gently, “don’t worry...”

**~o0o~**

Bur she still felt guilty. Hermione could see Thestrals now, and she began to sob, wishing she couldn’t. She screwed her eyes shut so she couldn’t see them, feeling lightheaded. Her knees gave way and she collapsed, falling into gentle arms.

Hermione opened her eyes, almost expecting to see Ron again but knowing she wouldn’t.

“You see them now, don’t you?” said Harry quietly as he held onto her tightly. “Thestrals!”

Hermione nodded, burying her face in Harry’s chest, soaking his clean shirt with her tears and runny nose as she wrapped her own arms around him.

“I’m so sorry Harry!” Her voice sounded muffled, even to herself. “I should have never said that! I shouldn’t have...”

“Ssh,” he said, rocking her slowly, “it’s okay Hermione. That was years ago, and I knew exactly what you meant.”

And then they were silent, except for the sound of her muted sniffles as he held her against him. She felt him stroking her hair, kissing the top of her bushy head, and gradually began to calm down. Finally Hermione stopped crying and lifted her head, but still not wanting to let go of Harry.

She gave him a wan little smile. “Thanks Harry! I feel a bit better now.”

“No problem, Hermione! You know I’ll always be here for you, don’t you?”

Hermione nodded, but felt a bit puzzled. “Er... I thought you’d be sleeping to be honest.”

“Me too,” Harry sighed. 

“I’m bloody knackered! But every time I tried to close my eyes...” He trailed off, looking a bit distant.

Hermione wasn’t sure what possessed her, but suddenly she kissed him on the lips. It was just a brief kiss - a chaste kiss even - but it brought Harry back to Earth. He gave her a slightly bewildered look.

In that moment, Hermione knew what she really wanted, but she wasn’t sure what Harry really wanted. There was really only one way to find out if there was even a possibility.

“Come with me,” she pleaded.

“Pardon?”

“To Australia - to help me bring back my parents. ... Come with me!”

“Er... you sure? I mean, of course I’ll come with you if that’s what you want, but what about Ron?”

“I...” Hermione really wasn’t sure what to say. All she knew right then was that this was the right thing to do - for her, and she hoped for Harry as well. 

“To be honest, I can’t be around him right now,” she said, feeling awful even as she said it. “And I don’t really know why. I just know it doesn’t feel right - ”

Harry actually looked relieved.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, looking as if he felt a bit guilty too. “I can’t really be around Ginny either. It wouldn’t be right...” 

Harry trailed off briefly again, but this time he didn’t look distant. He was gazing at her intently.

“ _This_ feels right,” he said softly after a moment passed. “I meant it when I said I’d always be around for you. ... I told Ron that you were like a sister to me, you know, when he came back during the horcrux hunt - but it’s loads more than that really - and it’s not really fair of me to expect Ginny to be okay with that. 

“I care about her, I really do, but she deserves better than a guy who would drop everything else to be there for another girl at a moment’s notice. ... And it’s not like we’re really together right now.” 

“Me neither,” said Hermione, feeling massively relieved herself, “I mean - Ron and I were never official - we never even dated or anything. It was just like... I don’t know - for a little while it just felt like there might be something between us. ... I know I snogged him last night, but to be honest, I probably would have snogged you too...”

Hermione flushed, not sure if she should say that she had been afraid they were all going to die and wanted to give both her boys a kiss just in case it was the last chance she’d ever have to kiss either of them.

“So just to be absolutely clear, it’s really okay then? For you and me to go to Australia together?” asked Harry when she said nothing more. 

“Yes!” said Hermione in a small voice, knowing that Ron wouldn’t like it at all. That was just going to be something she would have to deal with. 

Harry seemed to know it too. Hermione turned around in his arms, leaning back against him, and for a while they both watched the Thestrals flying above the tree-tops, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over them before the world became complicated again. 

Thestrals, they were more than just a sign of Death, Hermione realised in that moment, they were the sign of life she had been looking for...


	6. When Harry Met Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron snogs Hermione after the quidditch match instead of Lavender! Ginny is snogging Dean. What's a guy to do when the only two girls he's interested in apparently have other ideas?
> 
> Challenge fic: You know me, I'm Harmony all the way. But I was presented with a question and this oneshot is the result.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise when he spied Hermione snogging Ron in the corner of the common room. It was completely unexpected, but Harry supposed Ron’s fight with Ginny had prodded him to act on his all too obvious feelings for Hermione following the quidditch match... And Harry wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

He glanced at the other corner of the common room and sighed to see Ginny snogging Dean. … Hermione with Ron, Ginny with Dean. … Ginny with Dean, Hermione with Ron. For some reason Harry began feeling really irritable, the elation he had felt at winning the quidditch match draining away.

Harry couldn’t bear watching either of the happy couples snogging anymore; he spun around crossly, intending to go and find somewhere else to be moody, only to be blocked by a blushing, nervously giggling Lavender, who had apparently been standing right behind him.

“Er… Hi Harry!” she said, her blush deepening. “That was an amazing catch!”

“Er…Hi?” Harry was a bit flummoxed.

“You’re an incredible Seeker, you know!” Lavender pulled a little closer.

“And… and last year—you were an amazing teacher in the DA,” she said breathily. “And… er, your Patronus was so beautiful. I—I wish I could do a corporeal Patronus.” Then she giggled nervously again.

“Er…” said Harry.

Why was Lavender looking at him that way? What was with the fluttery eyelashes and Lavender acting all shy and embarrassed? Then Lavender’s demeanor changed as she watched Harry’s features.

“Sorry,” she muttered, turning away, wiping at eyes which suddenly looked a bit teary.

As Lavender dejectedly trudged back towards Parvati, who was inexplicably glowering at Harry, it all tumbled into place in Harry’s befuddled brain.

“Hey—hey Lavender, wait,” he called out after her.

Lavender turned around, her cheeks still glistening wetly. She tried to smile at him.

“It’s alright, Harry, really. I know you’re more interested in those two.” Lavender shot a look towards Ginny and Hermione. “I’m sorry. I just thought, maybe—”

“Do you want to go to a Christmas party with me?” Harry blurted out.

“What?” Lavender looked stunned.

“Professor Slughorn—he’s having a Christmas party. We’re allowed to bring dates.”

“You—you’re asking me on a date?” asked Lavender incredulously.

“Er… Yeah!”

Harry didn’t really know why he was asking. But why not? Lavender was a bit giggly, but she’d always been nice. And she had been one of the most eager participants in Dumbledore’s Army. And she was pretty. Why not?

“Yeah!” Harry said again, more firmly. “I am. So would you like to go with me then?”

Lavender practically squealed, her eyes lighting up. The next thing Harry knew, Lavender was planting a kiss on his lips—not a long one, but his lips burned where hers had touched his when they parted, and his brain had gone a bit fuzzy.

“So—that’s a yes then?” asked Harry with a lopsided grin.

“Yes!” Lavender squeaked, vigorously nodding, her golden waves of hair bouncing. “I’d love to go to the Christmas party with you, Harry!”


	7. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Severus Snape finally has a chance to find out what Potter and his pals get up to at night, and with a bit of luck, he'll be able to get them all expelled._ "Canon Compliant"

Finally, at long last, thanks to Sirius Black, glory awaited him. If Black and Potter thought he’d chicken out, they had another think coming. They’d be laughing out of the other side of their faces when their pal was kicked out of Hogwarts, and with any luck, chucked in Azkaban to boot. And with a bit more luck, maybe Potter and Black would get expelled too.

He imagined the look on Potter the puffed up peacock’s face. That would take Potter down a peg or two, and then Lily would see just how pathetic he really was. Quidditch champion! Severus snorted bitterly. He’d show Potter just how useless quidditch was compared to Dark magic—and Lily would finally understand.

Quidditch was nothing, Severus told himself, savagely squashing the brief image of himself on a broom with the golden snitch in his hand and Lily looking on admiringly.

His thoughts returned to the task at hand. The silvery light of the full moon shone down upon him through the still branches of the Whomping Willow. Severus peered into the inky blackness of the tunnel before him, his heart thumping loudly against the wall of his chest. A sudden horrible thought occurred to him.

What if Sectumsempra didn’t work on werewolves? What if the Incarcerous spell didn’t hold and the werewolf broke free of the ropes while dangling by its ankle in midair?

Severus almost lost his nerve, but the thought of Avery and Mulciber’s awed expressions and the rest of the Slytherins clamouring around him and cheering his victory urged him on. Setting his jaw in resolve, Severus lit his wand and slipped between the gnarled roots of the willow into the tunnel beneath. Slowly he crept forth down the long dank, dark passage, a thrill of excitement shooting through him.

He didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind him until it was too late, and a hand grasped his arm, making him start with fright. Severus whirled around to confront his assailant.

“Potter!” he snarled at the shadowy figure, half-lit by the light of both wands.

“Are you bloody mental?” Potter hissed, keeping his voice low. “D’you really think you’re going to take on a werewolf?”

“Get off me, Potter,” Severus sneered, struggling to pull his arm free from Potter’s grip, “Your pal is going down, and then you’re next!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Snape!” said Potter as he attempted to drag Severus back towards the mouth of the tunnel. “You’re just going to get yourself killed!”

At that moment, an eerie howl echoed through the tunnel, followed by a loud snarl. Both boys froze. At first, Severus could see nothing, but the growling seemed to be drawing nearer, and then—then he saw them—two eyes glittering in the light of his and Potter’s wands. Severus gulped, his resolve wavering.

Potter took advantage of Severus’s distraction and shoved him back towards the entrance, standing between him and the werewolf.

“Go, you moron!” Potter yelled. “Get out of here—I’ll try to hold him off as long as I can. If we’re lucky, he might recognise me!”

The werewolf let out a bark and Severus could hear paws against the earthy tunnel floor rapidly approaching. Panicking, Severus didn’t hesitate; he scrabbled in the dirt and hauled himself up through the opening. He peered at the trunk of the willow in dismay; the moon had passed behind a cloud and he could no longer see the knot to close the the entrance. He felt around the bark of the trunk with both hands, trying to find it.

Potter suddenly burst through the entrance and pushed him out of the way. Severus stumbled backwards and fell on the ground. Potter kicked out at the trunk of the tree and the roots closed over the black maw just as another howl escaped through the entrance. The limbs of the Whomping Willow began to quiver. Severus quickly scrambled out of the way, followed by Potter.

For a moment both boys lay upon the grass, panting heavily as the willow’s limbs began flailing. As his breathing slowed, fury overtook Severus at having been thwarted from achieving his goal.

It was all Potter’s fault! Potter had spooked the werewolf—he just knew it! Potter had deliberately tried to kill him—he and Black both—they had set him up! It had all been a trick!

Potter clambered to his feet and held out his hand to help Severus up. He swatted Potter’s hand away and stood up.

“Your werewolf pal is _done_ , Potter!” he spat venomously. “Soon everyone will know—I’ll make sure of it. Then that old fool Dumbledore will _have_ to expel him—he won’t have a choice!”

“I think not,” said a cool, calm voice, taking Severus and Potter by surprise.

They both whirled around to see the headmaster looking at them with disappointment on his face, his long silvery beard practically glowing in the light of the moon which had just emerged from behind the cloud.

“I think it is perhaps best that you do not speak of this, Severus,” said Dumbledore, his eyes piercing Severus’s own. “If the rumours are correct, and I have no doubt that they are, you and your friends have been targeting muggleborn students with dangerous spells. I would hate to be forced to expel _you_ —”

“No!” Severus gasped, his eyes widening with horror at the thought of being sent back home, where his father was sure to be waiting and gloating. “You can’t—please! I can’t go back—not now.”

“Do I have your word that you will keep this incident to yourself?”

“Yes,” said Severus quickly. “Yes, I will—I won’t tell anyone.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “For the time-being, you may remain at Hogwarts. However, make no mistake, if I, or any of the other professors, catch you using Dark magic on muggleborn students, you are finished at Hogwarts. Is that understood?”

“Yes!” said Severus sulkily, fuming inside.

“Very good!”

The headmaster peered at him a moment longer, then turned around and strode up the grassy hill back towards the castle, his gaudy robes and silvery beard billowing in the wind which had picked up.

“Yes,” Severus muttered malevolently to himself as he watched Dumbledore growing smaller, “you won’t catch me—”

“What?”

He glanced at Potter. Severus sneered at him, and without another word he marched up the hill, plotting his revenge and leaving a perplexed Potter in his wake.


	8. Harry Potter and the Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **What if Harry had been able to answer Snape's three questions in First Year?**  
> 
> 
> What follows is the answer to that question. In order for the answer to be credible, one necessarily has to presume that Harry has a much better memory than indicated in canon, **while maintaining his good study habits as they are established in chapter 6 of _HP & the Philosopher's Stone_ though embellished a bit.**
> 
> Because I am pretending that the story is otherwise more or less exactly the same up through Harry's first Potions lesson as written by Rowling, probably at least a third of what follows is in Rowling's own words.
> 
>  
> 
> **Everything you recognise from the books is all Rowling, and no plagiarism is intended (think of it as a chapter and verse citation in an essay—which it kind of is, but in prose form).**
> 
>  
> 
> And by the same token, if you mistake some of my words for hers, then I have done my job as writer! ... ;-)
> 
> Also worth noting, you will have to imagine the slightly altered scenes between the start-of-term feast and the first Potions lesson. This Harry would have remembered his way around the castle a bit quicker (though it would still be a pain in the arse because doors and stairs and walls "seem to move around a lot"), and he would have already known that "magic was more than waving your wand and saying a few funny words." I'll allow for Hermione to still be the only one to turn the match into a needle in the first Transfiguration lesson though. She's still a bit more of an academic genius than Harry.

**Preface: An altered scene from Chapter 6 of _Philosopher's Stone._**

_Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in_ A History of Magic. _**His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night,** Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window._

 _Harry scoured_ Hogwarts, a History, _very keen to learn all about the ancient school of witchcraft and wizardry, and eagerly perused the Charms and Transfiguration books, tempted to try out some of the spells right then and there. He was grateful that Aunt Petunia had given up vacuuming his room, because Hedwig kept returning with dead mice after her nightly prowls._

_Every evening, after eating a hearty meal of stale bread and slightly sour milk while the Dursleys feasted on delicious smelling pork chops and mashed potatoes, or roast chicken and dumplings, or steak and baked potatoes—otherwise still pretending that Harry didn't exist—he would return to his room and continue reading, absorbing as much information as he could on the first go round. And when he had finished the books he read them all again._

_By the end of the second week since Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley, Harry had read all of his school books three times, just to be certain that the information stuck. His memory was quite good for most eleven year old boys, but unfortunately, it wasn't photographic, no matter how much as he wished it was. He ticked off the days on the calendar, counting down to September First, skimming through his books each night the last two weeks of August..._

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Potions Master**

**An altered scene from Chapter 8 of _Philosopher's Stone_**

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeon cells. It was colder there than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animal parts and eyeballs floating in glass jars on steel shelves all around the room. With its dingy grey walls of irregular stone slabs, it looked very much like Harry had always imagined a torture chamber would look—which might have also had something to do with the rusty iron rings attached to the walls, many of them spaced in pairs.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new— _celebrity._ "

Harry's first reaction was bewilderment, but when Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands he began to fume in silence. The only reason he was famous was because his parents were dead and he was alive. Harry was certain now that he hadn't been mistaken about the evil looking glare that Professor Snape had given him during the start-of-term feast, but at least Snape wasn't making his scar hurt this time. He scowled at the horrid Potions Master who was continuing the roll call.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black and glittering, like obsidian, and cold and empty like a bottomless pit.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

Snape ignored Hermione, fixing his icy gaze upon Harry instead, raising his hackles again. Harry couldn't figure out why Snape seemed to hate him so much when they had never even met before; all he knew was that he didn't like it, not one little bit.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"The Draught of Living Death: a sleeping potion so powerful as to give the imbiber the appearance of a corpse," Harry answered, thanking his lucky stars that he had an excellent memory, much better than most kids his age. He noticed that Hermione looked very disappointed.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"An answer copied almost word for word from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ ," he said dismissively. "Thought you'd show off a bit, did you? Well, let's see if the famous Harry Potter can give a repeat performance, or if it was just a fluke. … So, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry stared right back into Snape's stone-cold eyes, wondering why Snape was harassing him instead of giving Hermione a chance to answer the question when her hand twitched up, only to dejectedly lower it again. It was obvious Snape was trying to trip him up, asking a question about something in a completely different book.

"A bezoar comes from the stomach of a goat," said Harry through gritted teeth. "It's a good antidote for most poisons."

Ron gawked at Harry as if he was a three-headed cat; he was clearly surprised and not entirely comfortable with the fact that Harry actually knew stuff.

But Hermione actually looked impressed—Snape, not so much!

"Not so bright after all, are we, Potter?" Snape sneered nastily, peering down his hooked nose at Harry. "A six year old could have come up with that answer! … You neglected to mention that a bezoar is formed by excretions as a defence mechanism—a response to irritants in the stomach. The excretions coat the irritant, and layer upon layer of this coating is deposited until a bezoar is formed.

"Thought you wouldn't crack open _The Organs and Excretions of Magical and Non-Magical Animals and Insects, and Their Uses in Potions_ before coming, eh, Potter? ... Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, were shaking with laughter but Hermione was gaping at Snape in dismay, apparently shocked by his behaviour.

Harry was infuriated. He'd answered precisely the question that Snape had asked him: _where to **find**_ a bezoar. Snape hadn't asked him how it was formed. No doubt Snape would have scoffed at Harry for knowing the answer to that too. There was apparently no winning with the horrible Potions Master, and he just knew that Snape wasn't about to let up.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand shot up this time, stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. She was clearly distressed that Snape wasn't asking anyone else any questions. Harry wasn't sure if Hermione was trying to do him a favour by drawing Snape's attention, or if she was just desperate to prove that she knew the answers too.

Either way, Harry was grateful for the attempt; he was sick of Snape's vituperative obsession with him. But Snape was relentless and ignored Hermione altogether.

"I _could_ answer that," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione could too, though—why don't you give her a chance to answer a question?"

"Sir, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant," Hermione interjected quickly, shooting Harry a look of gratitude. "It also goes by the name of aconite."

"I didn't ask you, Granger!" Snape snarled at Hermione. "As much of a show off as Potter, I see. That's one point you've lost for Gryffindor, for speaking out of turn."

Hermione turned scarlet and shrank back in her seat, casting down her eyes which looked like they were brimming with tears.

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape waved a wand at the blackboard and instructions appeared. Then he put everyone into pairs and set them to mixing up a "simple" potion to cure boils without a word about the theory, or explaining the procedure, or telling them how to go about it safely. Apparently Snape expected all the First Years to just know how to do it, as if they had all perfectly memorized their Potions Books .

Ron was subdued, still looking a bit unnerved, and he let Harry do most of the potion making, though he was perfectly willing to prepare the Potions ingredients as per Harry's instructions. He weighed dried nettles and crushed snake fangs while Harry focused intently on the cauldron.

Harry added the ingredients at just the right time, turned the temperature up and down at just the right time, and stirred the potion in the right direction for the precise number of times, and then reversed the direction of the stirring and exactingly counted out the number of stirs again. Every so often he would look up to make sure that Ron was preparing the potions ingredients correctly, and to see how the other students were getting on.

Hermione kept glancing over at Harry. He wasn't sure, as nobody had ever looked at him quite like that before (though it wasn't entirely unlike Ron's expression when Harry had made friends with him on the train), but if he had to guess, Hermione's expression seemed to be one of admiration.

Snape swept around dungeon chamber in his long black cloak like a vampire, peering disdainfully down his hooked nose at the students and criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look even better if he got it wrong, did you? That's _ten_ points you've lost for Gryffindor!"

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically.

"Well _I_ don't see how he could get much worse," hissed Hermione Granger, who was close enough to have overheard. "Not unless Professor Dumbledore allows corporal punishment."

Harry gulped. Surely not! Nonetheless, he did his best to ignore Snape's sour looks throughout the rest of the lesson.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost ten points for Gryffindor in his very first week— _why_ did Snape hate him so much?

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Er…" Harry spotted Hermione climbing the steps right behind Ron; she was looking at Harry a bit nervously, as if she wanted to ask him something.

"Yeah, of course you can come, Ron," said Harry absentmindedly. "Hey, Hermione—are you alright?"

Ron turned around and frowned.

"Oh, er... Yes—I'm fine," said Hermione, turning pink. She clammed up, but Harry could swear she had wanted to say something to him but didn't want to in front of Ron…


	9. Frodo Baggins-Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was browsing through some of my old one-shots (instead of working on my ongoing fics, because I'm procrastinating) and I found one that needed a good polishing. It doesn't really need a summary, because the title speaks for itself. And with that, I give you, the heavily revised (and hopefully better) version of _Frodo Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._

Frodo H.J. Baggins-Potter didn't live in a hole in the ground. He lived at #4 Privet Drive, a cozy little cottage in the village of Little Whinging in Surrey. He wasn't rich, he wasn't poor, but he lived comfortably with his kindly uncle, Bilbo Baggins—who spent most of his days reading books and maps and smoking some of the finest pipeweeds from California and Amsterdam. Which was fine with Frodo, because he loved reading too when he wasn’t pottering around in the garden with his friend Sam.

Frodo's parents had been killed in a car crash—or so he had believed until a letter was dropped on his head by an owl on his eleventh birthday. Uncle Bilbo's face turned grey when he saw Frodo tear open the letter. He had meant to tell Frodo the whole sad story one day, but had thought that the young lad was perhaps a wee bit too young to know the truth.

And now it was too late. Bilbo had never told Frodo that his mother, Lily—Bilbo's younger sister—and his father, James Potter, were wizards.

“I'm so sorry my dear boy. … Frodo, I lost track of time—I thought you were too young to know the truth about your parents and your scar—it's a terrifying tale for tender souls. But yes, your mum was a smashing witch and your father was a dashing wizard. Wherever they traveled, all roads opened before them...”

“You do go on and on, Uncle,” giggled Frodo. “Hurry up and get to the scary bit.”

Bilbo's eyes boggled. He hadn't imagined that sort of reaction from his young nephew. He was a brave boy indeed.

“Well then, my dear Frodo, the awful truth is that the villainous Dark Lord, Sauron, killed your parents and tried to kill you too—that’s how you got that scar. By all rights you should be dead, but something about you stumped him that day, and nobody knows why.

“In any case, you're alive, you're a wizard, and you're going to Hogwarts, Frodo—the finest academy of witchcraft and wizardry in Britain. The headmaster is the wisest and most powerful of all wizards. Gandalf has seen Hogwarts through thick and thin—he dueled twelve dragons simultaneously and defeated them all at once you know! Brilliant fellow... and the most wonderful fireworks.”

So Uncle Bilbo took Frodo to Diagon Alley in London to buy his wand and his school supplies. And a month later Frodo H.J. Baggins-Potter was preparing to step onto platform 9 and 3/4's. He was there two hours early, because the Bagginses were nothing if not punctual.

Frodo said his goodbyes to Uncle Bilbo and moments later he found himself an empty compartment on the empty train and hoped that he'd make some new friends when the rest of the students arrived. A girl with bushy brown hair and a cute overbite suddenly burst into Frodo's compartment.

“Oh... Hello! My name is Hermione Granger. _I'm_ always early too. Do you mind if I sit next to you?” the girl asked eagerly.

Frodo opened his mouth to respond in the affirmative and she sat down anyway, before he even had a chance to say anything. Hermione Granger peered into Frodo's green eyes, then her own eyes glanced at the lightning shaped scar on Frodo's forehead.

“Oh!” she said with astonishment, “ _You're_ Frodo Baggins-Potter. You're very famous. I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and  
_Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ I'm ever so sorry about your parents. That's a very sad thing to be famous for,” Hermione finished in a rush of words.

“It's alright,” said Frodo with a grin, “I have a really nice Uncle who looks after me.”

“Is he a hobbit or a wizard?” Hermione asked.

“What's a hobbit?” Frodo inquired with a puzzled expression.

“Non-magic people according to the _Oxford Dictionary of Wizard Slang_ —like my parents. I didn't know I was a wizard until I got my letter.”

“Me neither!” Frodo exclaimed in amazement, excited to have something in common with a girl. “My uncle raised me as a... a hobbit. He thought I would be too scared to know how my parents died and that someone tried to kill me. But as soon as I got my school books at Diagon Alley I was so excited to learn how to be a wizard that I read them all front to back three times.”

Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head and her mouth gaped. She'd never met anyone else who read all of their school-books before term began too. Frodo and Hermione passed the time chatting about the things they had already learned, and a bit about their home lives as well.

Eventually, the rest of the students and their families began arriving on the platform and filling up the train. Shortly thereafter, a boy who said his name was Neville poked his head in the door.

“Have you seen a toad? I've lost mine,” he asked.

“We'll help you look, right Frodo?” said Hermione a bit bossily.

Frodo nodded cheerfully, eager for the chance to help someone find something which was lost.

“Of course. I'd be happy to help.”

So Frodo and Hermione looked up and down the corridors of the train, asking in all of the compartments and carriages.

They stuck their heads in the door of a compartment which housed a scruffy looking ginger boy with freckles showing off his half-dead rat to another very bored looking boy and waving his wand.

“Excuse us. Have either of you seen a toad?” Frodo asked politely. “Neville's lost one.”

“We already told him we haven't seen it,” said the red-haired boy.

“Are you doing magic?” asked Hermione eagerly, seeing the wand. “Go on, let's see then.”

Frodo and Hermione promptly sat down, startling the freckled boy and his friend.

“Oh... er, right then,” he said, waving his wand, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Nothing!

“Are you sure that's a spell?” Hermione asked, looking rather dubious.

"It's not very good—but that’s why we’re all going to Hogwarts, isn’t it?" said Frodo cheerily.

Hermione stood right up again. “Come on Frodo, let’s go find Neville's toad then.”

Frodo got up too, then he spotted something on the ginger boy’s nose. “By the way...erm...”

“It's Ron, Ron Weasley.”

“An’ I’m Seamus,” said Ron’s friend. “Seamus Finnegan.”

“I'm Frodo, Frodo Baggins-Potter—”

“And I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione interjected primly, suddenly realising that she had forgotten to introduce herself properly too.

“Anyway,” said Frodo to Ron, “you've got a bit of dirt on your nose—just thought you should know."

Hermione grabbed Frodo’s hand and led him away from the gobsmacked Ron Weasley.

Further down the corridor, Frodo and Hermione happened across a posh, smarmy looking blond boy and his gorilla-shaped mates.

"It's you," drawled the blond boy as he peered down his pointy nose. “I heard Frodo Baggins-Potter was on the train. My name is Draco Malfoy, and this is Crabbe and Goyle.”

Malfoy gave Hermione a sneery sort of look, then turned his attention back to Frodo.

“You’ll soon find out that there’s a right sort of friend and a wrong sort,” he said snidely. “ _I_ can help you make the right sort of friends," Malfoy concluded, holding out his hand.

Frodo didn't really care for Malfoy, but he didn't like to be rude, so he shook Draco's hand. Hermione peered at Malfoy suspiciously.

“Well, I'm quite alright making my own friends, but thank you all the same,” Frodo said with a polite smile, hoping to avoid him in the future. “I'm sure I'll see you again. By the way, Draco is a pretty cool name—so no need to worry, I’m sure you’ll make plenty of nice friends at Hogwarts.”

Frodo took Hermione's hand and led her away from a gobsmacked Draco Malfoy. Eventually, they found Trevor the toad, much to Neville’s delight.

Finally, just after nightfall, the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station and all of the students piled out onto the platform. An enormous beast of a man about eleven feet tall whose face was nearly obscured by wild hair and a beard towered over them.

“Righ' then, Firs’ Years this way,” the hairy giant bellowed in a gruff, but not unkind voice.

The giant led all of the young students to a number of tiny little two person boats. Frodo got into one of the coracles with Hermione, and it began to slip silently across the smooth surface of the lake. The castle drew nearer as their boat glided through a sea of stars, reflections of the twinkling diamonds above. Frodo beamed at Hermione. She blushed and they both gazed up at the starry sky.

Once they had disembarked in the harbour under the castle, they were led up some steps to a massive stone door. The giant hairy man, Hagrid, knocked on the door and a stern looking witch beckoned.

“Firs' Years, this here is Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid. “She'll take the lot o’ yeh the rest o’ the way,”

They were all led into an enormous hall with four giant wooden tables resting on a marble floor, around which many students were already seated. And the professors were seated at another long mahogany table at the end of the hall with stained glass windows behind them. The ceiling seemed to disappear and the stars in the night sky shone through.

One by one, the new students were directed to sit under a very grumpy looking tattered old hat, and each in turn was sent by the hat to one of the four Great Houses which Frodo and Hermione had read about in _Hogwarts, a History_. Gryffindor table erupted into cheers when Hermione Granger and Frodo Baggins-Potter were sorted into their House.

Gandalf the headmaster made a speech, for a moment catching Frodo's green eyes with his own sparkling blue ones, and then the feast began. Frodo glanced back up at the staff-table as the food began appearing on silver platters, and a burning pain shot through his scar. One of the professors—the one with greasy black hair and a hooked nose—was glaring malevolently at him.

Frodo rubbed at his paining scar and averted his eyes, wondering what that was all about. He turned his attention back to the delicious looking feast and began piling roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and mashed potatoes and peas onto his plate, and then smothered the lot with gravy.

Hermione followed suit, and grimaced at Ron Weasley who was chattering merrily away with Seamus Finnegan, his mouth full of mashed potato and gravy dribbling down his chin…


End file.
